


Into the Dark

by EKthered



Category: The Order: 1886
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Character Development, Fluff, Gen, Horror, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 08:58:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3563786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EKthered/pseuds/EKthered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thump – Thump. Thump – Thump.<br/>The heartbeat’s cadence was slow and strong below his ear. Galahad tried to time his shallow breathing to it like a song. He wondered where he was and was momentarily concerned that he didn’t remember how he’d gotten there. Then his mind went fuzzy again, save for the coursing pain in his body screaming along his nerves to his brain. Light filtered down from far above, little particles of ice and snow shimmering in his vision like magical glowing dust. The chest below his head rumbled with speech; He heard voices, garbled whispers, but he couldn’t understand what they were saying.<br/>He shivered. It was so cold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. From Light

**The Dark**

 

_Thump – Thump. Thump – Thump._

The heartbeat’s cadence was slow and strong below his ear. Galahad tried to time his shallow breathing to it like a song. He wondered where he was and was momentarily concerned that he didn’t remember how he’d gotten there. Then his mind went fuzzy again, save for the coursing pain in his body screaming along his nerves to his brain. Light filtered down from far above, little particles of ice and snow shimmering in his vision like magical glowing dust. The chest below his head rumbled with speech; He heard voices, garbled whispers, but he couldn’t understand what they were saying.

He shivered. It was so _cold._

 

* * *

 

**December 14 th, 1885 – 48 Hours Earlier**

 

Isabeau D’Argyll pulled her woolen coat more tightly across her shoulders in a vain attempt to shut out the frigid wind. It didn't help and a little moan wormed its way up her throat. She walked faster.

Dawn had broken but the sky remained dark and moody, the threat of a greater storm on the horizon. The guard anticipated her hurried approach and opened the great iron doors of the Palace for her, her pace unbroken as she entered the ancient building, her winter-lined boots clacking on the marbled floor.

“My lady! We were worried you’d been caught by the snow!”

Marquis de Lafayette strolled up beside her, a pastry in one hand and a newspaper in the other. A crumb clung desperately to his thin mustache despite his wide smile. He offered her a bite of his breakfast – she declined with a gloved wave.  He shrugged. He still couldn't get a read on this lady, despite the few months he’d been on the team. She was warm and then she was cold, with seemingly no trigger one way or the other.

“The carriage got through just fine. It looks like the weather will thicken, though.”

“Indeed mademoiselle,” he agreed. “I worry for our mission.”

“Mission?”

“Ah,” the Frenchman swallowed, finishing his hasty meal, “Yes. Come, Sir Perceval will inform you. An unpleasant few days ahead for us, I think.”

Sir Galahad and his mentor sat side by side outside the boardroom, papers and maps scattered across the ancient oak table. Lafayette and Isabeau flanked them, inspecting the mess.

“Is that map of South Devon?” She asked.

“Yes,” Perceval agreed. “Have you been?”

“Not for many years, perhaps a century. We spent the night there returning from farther out.”

“Well, you will be reacquainted,” the elder knight sat back as he stroked his beard.  “Our intelligence informs us of many murders in the area, suspicious ones…  the Chancellor sent scouts last week, and they believe they have found the source.”

“Half breeds?” the Marquis asked.

“Yes. Festering, habituating a set of caves to the south. Kent’s Caverns, I believe it was called. They appear unorganized and young, feasting and leaving corpses to be found.”

“A Christmas roadtrip!” Lafayette fisted his hand. “Shall we carol to the people of South Devon when we have secured their safe festivus? Perhaps stay for an ale or two?” He waggled his eyebrow. Isi rolled her eyes.

“You do not want to hear our Lord Sebastian sing, my friend,” Galahad grumbled as he collected the maps. “I assure you.”

“Visit our young Nikola, Galahad, and complete the armaments,” Perceval chuckled.  “We will leave this evening, and arrive near morning to offer a sweet surprise to these sleeping beasts.”

 

* * *

 

**December 15 th, 1885**

 

The storm had begun in earnest in the late evening, slowing the caravan of carriages significantly. Isi had been unable to doze, her heart in her stomach every time she felt the wheel lose purchase on the stone road, her hands scrabbling for something to hold on to, worried the entire craft might tip sideways into the ditch. Perceval had patted her arm fondly while Galahad and Lafayette snored on, oblivious.

Morning had already come when the three carriages slowed to a stop. They arrived disheveled and sore after a night bouncing around inside the carriage. The knights tumbled from them with stiff legs and knees like newborn foals. Perceval’s team and two others were to enter the caves, ambushing the monsters who called it home.  They hauled their provisions out of the back of their transport and set the crates on the snowy ground.

“We are a little behind schedule,” Sir Claudin whispered to the assembled men and women. “So let us go quickly. Lady Lyonesse will remain here, tending to the portable coms unit.” She nodded, her fiery orange hair blowing in the wind. He motioned at the cave entrances. “Attempt to stay in communication range – the stone may garble the signal. Stick together in your teams. Go with honor.”

“With honor,” the knights murmured, double checking their weapons and grabbing the canisters of oil out from the crates.

Perceval lead his flock into the cave’s left mouth, the darkness swallowing them whole. He clicked on his lantern just as the first crunches snapped below their feet – upon investigation they realized it was the dried bones of human beings. The monsters had been feasting here for some time. Isi scowled at the sound, unsettled.

Down and down they went, the air growing dank with the telling stench of death.  The Marquis rubbed his frozen thumb on the hilt of his gun and realized he was a bit nervous – he didn’t like the confinement of this place. There was no light save for Perceval’s and the way it reflected off the frozen cavern walls was disconcerting, reminding him of ghosts or demons in the darkness. This was his first mission so far away from the Palace. Though he was surrounded by his mentors, he felt a world away from what was natural and right. A low growling noise bounced faintly off the cave wall, echoing up from deep within the belly of the ground. He swallowed and pressed closer to Isi. She did not complain.

“Perceval, do you copy?” Sir Claudin’s scratchy whisper came across the com.

“Copy,” the elder knight replied, the lantern floundering as he reached back for his unit.

“There seem to be two chambers in the center of this loop – both occupied with hostiles. They haven’t detected us yet, but there are _a lot_ of them. Be on your guard. I would suggest -“ he paused, a sound low in the background of his message, “It appears these caves were once mines – we’ve found – rags and tarps and kindling, broken old carts.”

“Soak the oil into the bits,” Galahad agreed softly. “We haven’t found anything like that on our side yet, though.”

“I hope you do, or perhaps in the chamber with the beasts. Be quiet about it!”

“Yes,” Perceval said. “And according to the intelligence maps, we take the steeper but faster loop trail to exit, outrunning the smoke when it comes.”

“Confirmed,” Claudin responded. “Radio silence until it’s done, we don’t want them hearing us.”

The smell was overpowering and Isi, much to her embarrassment, had to stop them for a moment as she gagged. Galahad set his canister down and rested a hand on her shoulders as her stomach righted itself. She shrugged him off and stomped forward with a huff. Lafayette raised an eyebrow – Galahad shook his head, and then Perceval took the light from their faces.

They moved on. Here they found the rotting slats of mine tracks, splashed with blood and gore. Many, many people had died here, let alone the bodies that had been discovered top side. The knights felt the call of duty redouble – they had to end this.

Perceval halted without warning and Galahad ran right into his shoulder with a grunt. The elder knight lifted his lamp and the beam of light dimmed to almost nothing, its range of illumination depleted by distance. It was dark, but they could still see the horror of it.

The area was enormous, their eyes climbing into the air. The entire chamber was covered in ichor and rot, black ooze dripping from the far away ceiling. The pale, wormy bodies of the half breeds covered the walls, naked bodies packed tightly into the crevasses.  The cave floor was sticky with frozen and congealed blood. It was an icy womb of death, unnatural and appalling.

“Hurry,” Galahad breathed, and they set about to opening and pouring the canisters. The liquid splashed over the ice and their boots slipped and slid, the smell of linseed and oil combating against the reek of spoiled blood. The scent was strong – they didn’t have much time. The Marquis struggled to unscrew his bounty, his fingers trembling from the cold? Fear? He couldn’t tell –

Galahad materialized from the darkness beside him, leaning down, helping him open the canister. Lafayette exhaled sharply through his nose and nodded. Together they dumped the contents.

Lafayette had no idea how long they’d been in the chamber – it felt like days, it felt like only seconds. He’d hoped the creatures would waken to a fiery death, but the ground – it trembled as if the earth itself began to quake. The canisters rattled, the cave walls shook and then they heard the sound they’d dreaded. The scream came sharp and horrible, tearing apart the silence – and then the eyes – dozens of red glowing orbs in the darkness. The Frenchman felt his organs go cold and blood rise to his ears, adrenaline spiking. Too dark, it was too dark -

And then it was too bright. Perceval had lit his match and the fire hungrily sprang forth, lapping first at debris but then jumping to the first layer of half breeds. They screamed, flinging themselves from the walls.

Galahad’s prototype Arc weapon ripped open the air, tearing across the cave and splattering his first target. The ground continued to shake and it threw off the Marquis' aim, bullets missing their fleshy targets.

“Go! Get out!” Galahad roared in the chaos, the flames licking around his feet as he held the creatures at bay. Perceval yanked Lafayette by the arm and threw him forward into Isi, the three of them skidding over icy rock. Galahad moved backwards, following their path and providing the cover fire they needed. The white things flew at them, screaming, panicked, their necks stained red their claws reaching.

“Claudin do you read? We are evacuating!” Perceval yelled, cold fingers fumbled over his com. The ground’s trembling increased dramatically, knocking Isi down to the ground. Lafayette hooked his arm under her and lifted her in a seamless motion, somehow staying upright and somehow holding on to his pistol.

“What is happening!?” she shrieked, “The cave is falling apart!”

“I don’t know,” Perceval barked. “The way – dammit,” he cursed, his eyes on the collapsed tunnel, “the way is blocked, we must find another!”

They sprinted as best they could with the shaking earth. Left – right? Perceval struggled to remember map –

Suddenly the darkness warmed to brown, and they gasped – fire, not fire from oil but fire from explosives – it barreled down upon them from the other end of the shaft. Lafayette felt his heart stop – they were going to die here, this was it, he never even became a true knight, never even –

Perceval screamed over the din, motioning to a side tunnel, throwing them like prized fish from the sea into its depths. Galahad skid and scrambled, his back still to them, firing the last of his rounds into the sea of red hateful eyes that blocked any retreat. Perceval gripped the man’s armor collar between the shoulder blades and pulled. They tumbled into the darkness, down and down, fire blasting above them, its light and searing heat farther and farther away as they fell deeper into the earth.


	2. From Dark

Had the circumstances been different it might have been thrilling; a frantic ride in the dark. Even as they plummeted, the ground shook, smacking them in the back as they tried to remain upright, children sledding in snow.

Isi and Lafayette found the end first and had a hard landing signaled by the Frenchman’s cursing in at least three languages. It was pitch black. His fingers fumbled for something, anything – they found Isi’s boot.

“Are you alright?” He cried over the sound of shaking earth.

“I – y-yes,” she yelled back with a hoarse voice. “Where is – Perceval!”

His lantern, by some miracle, was still on and they watched it and its owner fall flat on his back, the sloping tunnel ending high off the floor of the cavern. He groaned and pulled himself up, seemingly unharmed. A sharp cracking sound above them pulled their eyes heavenward – the elder knight pointed the lantern at it. The ceiling fissured and began to crumble.

“This area is unstable! We must move!” Perceval slid away from the wall, towards them, arms out to try and stabilize his balance.

“But Galahad!” Isi pointed at the mouth of the tunnel – “Where is he?! We cannot leave him! Please!” She felt trauma and hysteria color her thoughts and panic fill her veins. No – No he must be alright, just behind them, right as rain -

Fate, however apathetic it had been thus far chose that moment to hear her, and the wall spit down the grizzled knight and his Arc gun. He looked up at them, dazed, and didn’t have time to think before the first chunks of stone began to fall from above. Galahad abandoned the weapon and forced himself upright, eyes locked with Isi. He was alive. Of course he was; he always made it through. They would never be separated. She could see the strain, the way he forced himself to move though things hurt, and she thought he was coming to embrace her. Tell her it was ok. He always told her it was going to be ok. It always was -

He threw himself at her, pushing her away with powerful arms. She gasped, shocked; she slammed hard to the iced ground, right on her ass. She was confused – why -

The ceiling gave way to a thousand pieces of frozen earth. One struck his head and Galahad collapsed a boneless heap.

 **“No!!”** the scream tore from her throat.

Perceval tossed his lantern to Lafayette and for a moment they could not see.

“Run! The other way, now!” they heard the eldest knight cry out. “We will follow your light!”

“Merde!! _F-fuck_ ,” Lafayette cursed, snagging Isabeau by the arm again and dragging them blindly through the most level of tunnels available. They couldn’t turn back, they didn’t know if the others were even alive –

“Look!” Isi gasped, her hand on his chest. “Look it’s – that’s light! Natural light!” Was it real? An illusion? It was to their left – a faint blue color instead of the inferno of red and fire.

“A way out,” the Marquis panted, “Perhaps. Hurry!”

Sliding and skidding – they stumbled down the narrow tunnel until it opened up. They tumbled forward, falling and rolling on fresh snow.

It was daylight, but it was too far way – at least a hundred meters in the air. It was another chasm, though this one seemingly empty of half breeds and the daylight was far, far above them, the end of the cone shaped chamber.

It was quiet, the rumbling of breaking stone muffled. They watched with their hearts in their throats as dust and ice spewed out of the narrow tunnel they’d fallen from.

“Please,” Isi whispered, gripping the snowy ground. “Please-“

Galahad was thrown from the opening, his body limp when it came to rest. Perceval dove forward from behind him. The tunnel choked on stone and snow and closed, spewing a few last flecks of broken ice into the cavern.

They lay there, panting, trying to find breath, shock numbing their thoughts. They were still alive. Lafayette scrubbed his face, his hands trembling. Perceval moaned, lifting himself onto his knees, his beard dusted with ice. He crawled to Galahad. Isi realized Greyson had not moved. A dark stain seeped into the snow below him.

“Sebastian?” Isi whispered like a child, afraid.

He didn’t reply. He ever so gently rolled the other knight to his back. Isabeau gasped – Galahad’s brow was split in two above his eye. His shoulder was bent at an unnatural angle, his left arm pulpy and crushed. Something white punched through his pant leg and Isi realized with horror that it was a bone. His bone.

Bile surged from her throat, hot and steaming on the snow. She wretched.

“Help me,” Perceval asked the Frenchman as he lifted Galahad’s blackwater from the hollow of his throat. Fingers probing Galahad’s neck and skull, Perceval determined the man’s spine was relatively intact, and he lifted the heavy man’s torso upright. He handed the vial to Lafayette and tilted Galahad’s head back. Lafayette’s hand trembled as he dribbled the precious liquid into the knight’s mouth. At first there was no motion, no breath and Perceval felt a hot wave of horror sweep through him. But then – the swallow, the pause, the soft wet gasp for air. The older man thought he was going to pass out from the relief of it. His student began to tremble and Sebastian tightened his arms around him.

“Monsieur…” Lafayette whispered, “His leg and arm – the Blackwater is not-“

“Yes,” Perceval nodded. “We need the Blackwater to first fix the more important things – his chest, anything inside we don’t see – the rest…” He shook his head. “We will have to splint his leg and arm and whatever else is broken and then he will drink again.”

The Marquis swallowed hard, gaze flitting around the area. It was a large chasm, some fifty meters across with various ancient mining trinkets and splintered woods and debris strewn about. Isabeau was still hunched over, her breaths fast and hot in the frozen air.

“Does anyone read me?” Perceval asked into his com. “Does anyone read? We are in need of immediate assistance.” He waited… silence. “Can anyone hear us?”

“We may be too far below the surface, Monsieur.”

“Shit,” Perceval muttered. “We must do this now, then. Help me – we may be able to find the materials we need here. We will not be able to move him like this, it’s too dangerous for him.”

“Yes,” Lafayette exhaled, fingers splayed on the ground. “Um – splints – tarp, rope, wood, yes-“

“Isi,” Perceval implored with a louder voice, “Are you alright?”

She blinked, her wide eyes sliding from the ground to the prone men. Lafayette staggered to her and grabbed her shoulders.

“Shock,” he suggested.

“Bring her here,” Perceval ordered. “She can hold Galahad while we-“

“No,” she whispered with a strange voice. “No, I – we must find a way out for him. I will – I will look for a way out. I must – I-” She stood, wobbly, her feet sinking into the snow. She wandered away towards the perimeter of the cave. Lafayette looked back to Perceval helplessly.

“Let her go,” the elder man sighed. “Find what you can.”

“Yes, Monsieur.”

He absently wondered how long it had been since a living human being walked this place as he stumbled around, digging for anything they could use. His hands and feet were almost totally numb and his nose was dripping like a drainpipe. Isabeau was walking the edge of the flat space, touching the snowy walls, not looking anywhere else. He was shocked – he had expected her right at Galahad’s side just like any other time he’d seen the knight get shot or injured.

Within a few minutes Lafayette had gathered a bundle of differently sized frozen woods, sticks, twine, stiff frozen cloth, and an ancient hatchet, the hilt splintered at the end. The package tumbled from his shaking hands at Galahad’s feet.

“Good,” Perceval whispered. “Very good, well done.”

“It’s so cold,” the Frenchman whispered back. “We need to get out of here, or find fire, or – “

“The wood, it’s frozen, yes?”

“Yes, Monsieur.”

“And we have no oil left.”

“None,” he moaned. “We have – let me see,” Lafayette fumbled with his belt, loosening their meager provisions. “A f-flare, a flask of bourbon which is mine but I s-suppose in this situation I can share, the rest of our rations – a few pieces of salted beef – matches – a deck of c-cards. Oil – Oil! Gun oil! But – Merde, it’s not very flammable-“

“No,” Perceval agreed. “But the gun powder in your weapon is.” Lafayette’s eyes grew wide.

“You’re right!”

Isi came forward. Her eyes rested firmly beyond them on the caved in entrance they’d survived.

“There is no way out that I can see.”

“It’s alright,” Perceval said in a soothing voice. “Why don’t you keep looking for tarp? Cloth? Anything we can use to put Galahad on – we need to get him off of this snow, keep him warm.”

She nodded, fingers tapping her coat as she glided away, eyes on the ground.

“Is she alright?” Lafayette asked lowly.

“She will be,” Perceval deflected. “I believe we should splint him first – the cold will help numb his pain.”

Lafayette laid out the materials and began to cut the blood-sodden uniform from Galahad’s limbs with his pocketknife. The wounds had tried to heal – the blackwater simmering in his veins, but the damage was too extensive – the white of bone still visible in his arm and hand, and protruding from his leg. The Marquis struggled to curb his nausea at the site of it; it looked more of slaughter meat than human. He was glad he was versed in first aid – any knight (or knight in training) had to be, let alone his years in revolution and war. But doing it was never pleasant, especially when the patient was your friend and not a nameless comrade on the field.

“I can do it,” Perceval started.

“No,” Lafayette told him. “Hold him still, soothe him if you can. I pray he does not regain consciousness for it.”

The bourbon on the wounds and makeshift bandages from his shirt didn’t wake him, but the crack of bones being reset did. Galahad’s incoherent shriek echoed in the cavern, startling snow and ice from still stone. His body convulsed, desperate to be away from the pain and Perceval held him as still as he was able, an unbroken string of soothing nonsense pouring from his mouth into the injured man’s ear. Lafayette wasn’t sure how coherent Galahad was – he prayed the man would survive this torture and rest easy, never remembering this hour.

Lady Igraine hid away, watching from afar.

At last, the Marquis felt he had done all he could – leg set and bound to an ancient piece of wood – hand and arm tethered with cloth and bandaged. They had quickly scanned the rest of his bruised body and had seen no other broken bones, so Lafayette, hands shaking so badly with cold he feared he would spill it, lifted the blackwater to Galahad’s blue-tinged lips.

“Alright,” Perceval nodded. “You’ve done so well, Marquis. You will be a fine knight in this order.”

“T-thank you, monsieur,” he trembled, “But first we must find a way to be warm, and then find a way to safety!”

“I found this,” Isi said, her voice stronger than before. She tugged a grungy and ancient tarp behind her, filled with bits of kindling and various metal things, gears, tidbits from mining equipment.

“Excellent work,” Perceval praised. “Lay that tarp here – yes, and meanwhile – the Marquis can, if his fingers allow for it, pry the gunpowder from his bullets…”

It was a pathetic excuse for any kind of camp – dirty rags atop bits of broken old things in a desperate attempt to escape the cold. Lafayette dug and dug and dug but could not find the true ground – just more ice. He took the metal bits Isi had found and placed them on the surface; then he stacked the frozen bits of wood and parchment he’d found in a spiral, and soaked the center of it with his weapon oil, hoping it would help. Then the gunpowder – all five of his remaining bullets. They held their breaths as the match sparked and he lit the campfire. It sputtered, feeding on gunpowder and hissing at the unhelpfully frozen wood. Perhaps the oil helped – perhaps there was a God, Marquis was not sure – but the design held and warmth ate away the inside of the little structure. It felt like an eternity until it was warm enough to be felt through their uniforms. Galahad trembled endlessly, exposed arm and leg white as death in the fading daylight from above.

“I hope the smoke from our fire reaches the port hole above,” Perceval said, lifting Galahad upright again so that the man’s head and back was off the cold ground, “And that Lady Lyonesse sees it… I pray it stands out against the other fires that started here.” He turned Galahad’s head, pressing the man’s cheek into his sternum and pinning his head there with his jaw, masking part of Greyson’s face with his beard.

“Do you think… what do you think happened?” Isi asked from across the fire as she rubbed her hands.

“That kind of explosion?” Lafayette asked. “Explosives. Not just oil fire.”

“Indeed, ancient dynamite for mining, I suspect,” Perceval agreed. He sighed, closing his eyes. “I pray Claudin and his team survived… but I don’t see how they could have – it was their oil, their fire that sparked this catastrophe. We are very lucky none of the explosive was in the cave we targeted.”

“Had we known,” the Marquis said regretfully.

Darkness fell across their small view of the outside world as the sun set above them. They waited, eyeing the supply of wood scraps and knowing it would not last forever. The Marquis stacked broken things that could not be burned behind Perceval so that he might lean back. The older man was grateful and soon slipped into sleep, arms loose around Galahad’s chest. It was quiet, the hissing and bubbling of moistening wood the only sound. Isi made no eye contact with any of them. Lafayette swallowed and rubbed his hands.

“You have not said much, my lady. Are you well?”

Her gaze shifted from the fire to him. Her eyes were wider than normal, the skin of her face drawn.

“You are very lucky, Marquis. You don’t have the benefit of the blackwater, at least not yet. You could have died.”

He shrugged. “Indeed. I would like to believe God has a – soft spot for me in his great heart, yes?”

She snorted and rubbed her hands along her arms, trying to warm herself. Lafayette motioned to his side.

“I am here for you if you are cold, my lady. In – a no – funny business way, I assure you!” He stumbled. It must be the exhaustion – he was usually so good with words. And ladies. Then again, most ladies weren’t a century old, he sighed to himself.

Her glassy eyes flickered to his side where Galahad’s hips and Perceval’s feet warmed his thigh. The Frenchman realized it was not he the lady was so fearful of – but Galahad, even like this, unconscious.

“You… are worried for him? Yes?”

“Of course,” she said with a dull monotone.

“He needs rest, and rescue! We all need rescue. But then – it will be alright, I am sure.” He nodded to himself, resting a hand on the man’s undamaged leg. “He is very strong, and has good people to watch over him.” He felt Galahad’s shivering through his palm and frowned. “Though I think we must try to keep him as warm as we can in the meantime – I would give him a splash of Bourbon if I thought it would help. Only warms the waking, though.” He took a sip and felt it burn down his throat. He sighed happily.

Isi watched him with guarded eyes. He blinked and offered the drink. She shook her head.

“Why are you over there? What can I do to help you?”

She turned away, unkempt hairs from the day’s chaos drifting before her eyes.

“I don’t understand you, my lady. You obviously care for Sir Galahad a great deal; and yet you will not look at him! Are you –“ he paused and went still. “This – this is not your fault. His injuries – they are not your doing-“

“They always are,” she hissed, the sound bouncing off the cave walls. “Every time he walks near death, it’s because I failed – to see the shooter – failed to notice the danger! A hundred years of it,” the snarl growled from her, “And still he walks right into it, accepts it, tolerates it-“

“That is _ridiculous_ ,” Perceval croaked, his voice sleep heavy. He opened his eyes. “And you know it. You know you are a tremendously valuable knight with skills half the order envies. But any time you think you’re responsible for the injury of another, you do this.”

“Do what? Accept what I am? That I will _never_ be a fast or as brave-“

“Your emotions right now – your self pity?” the elder knight interrupted, “Is hurting him. Not your skills. Not fate. Not accidents, not a mission that went to hell that we could not have known would. There comes a time when we must accept that we cannot control everything, and realize that what we feel may not be what is.” He tilted his head back and watched the smoke curl towards the far-away sky. “It is a hard lesson. But you must set aside your insecurities, your guilt. You must be what people need you to be, not what you think you need to be to feel better.”

“You will be a fantastic leader, someday I think,” Lafayette commented. “You already are. But Galahad needs you to be strong, not guilty. I sincerely doubt he would ever blame you for anything like this.”

“He never does,” Perceval confirmed. “No one ever does. This feeling, this thing you do – it comes from you. You’ve tried to avoid these situations by becoming better, stronger, less likely to be hurt. And that works, to a point. But not always.”

She said nothing, not meeting their eyes.

“I met a man, once,” the Marquis said. “He was from – so far way – The orient! Copper skin, bald head. He followed a strange philosophy – one without God! He was at the bar, sipping a water. I’d tried, and failed I think, to bring a beautiful woman back to my room. We talked as I drank. I said – does your faith judge me? He said no. Things in moderation are fine! Even Holy God does not say that. He said that suffering comes from not seeing we are hurting others with our own greed, or lust, or drink, not the act of doing them itself. I have always tried to remember this – even I am aware how I seem with the beautiful ladies of London. But I do not wish them any harm, yes? I must,” he wiggled his fingers, “Be aware of myself. That while I think I can make them happy, perhaps it's not what they want.” He took another sip of his drink.

Isi swallowed hard, eyes shining with unshed tears in the firelight. No one spoke for a long time. The Marquis felt his eyelids droop, the day wearing him thin when he heard her voice, soft across the campfire.

“They died. My real parents – they died. Because of me,” her eyes came up to his. “I will never forget it. I was so young, but they tried to save me and – and they couldn’t and they died. I wasn’t fast enough, I wasn’t strong enough. I can’t – I just!” the sob came unbidden and she looked away, ashamed. “The lycans came for us, for my father I think – and I swore- I swore, never again would I-“

Lafayette was beside her in a heartbeat, a hand on her trembling head. He extended his arms, eyes compassionate in the firelight. Isi didn’t register she had moved until her face was in his shoulder.

Lafayette’s gaze flickered back to Perceval – the old man was watching with perhaps a proud look in his eyes. He motioned for them to come. The Frenchman lifted the woman to stand and escorted her across the fire to Galahad.

“You didn’t lose him,” Lafayette whispered. “He’s right there.”

She looked at Greyson, really looked at him for the first time in hours– the trembling body, his bare hands twitching. He looked older somehow, the lines of slow but steady age creasing with his furrowed brow, even unconscious.

Isi sank to her knees beside him, but could not move. Her fault – this was her fault -

“For God’s sake, come here child,” Perceval demanded, opening his arm to her. At last she agreed and curled upright in the crook of his bicep and shoulder, her body snug against Galahad’s side. He tightened his arm again like a wing, protective. The Marquis returned to rest on Galahad’s other side and together they warmed the injured knight.

They tended the flames all night, milking every second of heat from them. Isi didn't, still couldn't sleep, but she focused on Galahad's breathing, shallow but steady as his arm and ribs pressed into her side with each breath. She held his hand.

By morning, no one had come and the fire was gone.

 

* * *

 

 

**December 16th, 1885**

 

They had to do something.

Lafayette paced, trying to warm his numbed joints. His mind churned and he chewed on the last of the salted meat in hopes of jolting his thoughts to action.

They were running out of time. He glanced back over to the smoldering fire. They had Galahad in the middle of them, tightly spooned, but their teeth still chattered and even more concerning, the knight had yet to waken even after three doses of blackwater.

The Frenchman made a low noise of disgust at their situation – to survive all that horror, just to freeze to death? Intolerable. _Unacceptable._

He wrapped his hands around his shoulders for heat as he wandered the perimeter of the cavern. His fingers grazed his com and he paused, a thought brightening his mind. He cast a glance back at his fellows before he looked for a foothold to climb.

He didn't hate heights. He just – preferred not to deal with them, because falling was never a pleasant thing. Look up – never look down, oh SHIT he was already ten meters high.

“What in God's name are you doing?!” Isi cried from below. “Are you going to climb out of this cursed place?”

“Probably not,” he answered, not looking down again, no sir. His hands felt of pure ice and he knew he could climb no higher – it was now or never. “But -if I can -” He paused, panting, and when he was moderately confident he wasn't going to fall to his death, he reached, so, so slowly behind him, the little orange bulb pulsing with life.

“This is Lafayette,” he said into the silent air. “Can anyone hear me?”

 

* * *

 

 

“We have one shot. Quite literally.”

Lafayette cradled the flare as if it were made of gold. He looked skyward, his trembling frame making it hard to sight the top of the cave.

There were too many trees between their jail and those who remained behind with the Order – it would take to long to search them on foot. But, the com had a radius of two miles (when close enough to the surface to function), so if they could send the flare, their comrades would know where to look. It was their only chance – there was no more fire, no more smoke to signal with.

The Marquis tried to steady his breathing and be at peace, but he was shaking violently, the cold having burrowed into his skin, his bones. He held the flair upwards and growled, frustrated.

“L-let Isi do it.”

They jumped, startled by the rough voice. Galahad's head was still resting heavy on Perceval's chest, rising and falling with each of his teacher's breaths, but his eyes were half open, watching them.

“Grey,” Isi shook her head, already protesting, but Lafayette laid the flare in her hands.

“I am too – I cannot,” he stammered, waving his useless hands in the air. “He is right.”

“I trust you,” Galahad slurred, eyes sliding shut again. “I trust you.”

 

* * *

 

 

**December 17th, 1885**

 

When Galahad woke he was warm. He couldn't quite place why this mattered so much but he sensed this was a wonderful, wonderful thing.

He opened his eyes, bleary at first but his vision sharped after a moment. It was dark and the room unfamiliar. A fire burned low in the hearth and he laid upon a simple bed carved of wood with thickly stitched quilts and a woman – a woman?

He breathed deeply and exhaled – the scent of honey suckle filled his nose from the head of hair tucked below his chin.

“Isi,” he whispered. She did not stir, her warm weight a great comfort against him. Her hand rested lax and curled against his chest, an intimate thing. She'd never done this before. Where was he?

A gurgling snore wheezed from his left – an armchair, threadbare and worn. In it, a man – Marquis, bundled in quilt after quilt. To the right he made out another chair silhouetted by the fire.

“Sebastian,” he tried again, his throat dry.

His mentor started, a hand flying out to the bed.

“My old friend,” Perceval exhaled, his fingers finding Galahad's shoulder. “How are you feeling? What can do I for you?”

“I-” he blinked, trying to think clearly. “Water?”

The elder knight sat beside him and held a glass with a small paper straw. Galahad leaned forward as best he could with Isi against him, but he soon realized the strength required to maintain that action was something he did not possess. He took what he could and sank back.

“What happened to me? To us?” he managed to get out after an intense minute of catching his breath.

“The caves,” Perceval offered. “Do you remember?”

Galahad fought hard to tether his thoughts and memories but they swirled, impossible to task and order.

“Snow,” he whispered. “Cold. I was afraid. But I don't remember why. Only walking out in the daylight and then the light was gone.”

“Yes, it was,” Sebastian agreed. “But we found it again. And I hope we don't forget what we learned in that darkness.”

Galahad didn't understand the statement and wanted to ask what his mentor meant by it, but a strange warm weight beyond Isi or the quilts was settling on his chest, his eyelids. He struggled against it until Perceval's time-worn hand came to rest on his forehead, the thumb softly stroking an eyebrow.

“Rest, my oldest friend. You're safe, now. We have you.”

Galahad slept.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much thanks to ayamefeitom (ontumblr) for beta'ing this for me! And to my beautiful order 1886 fandom.


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